


Achilles, Come Down.

by mellohbie



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), mcyt
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Exile, Isolation, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit Exile Arc, mcyt - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellohbie/pseuds/mellohbie
Summary: After Logstedshire is destroyed by Dream, Tommy has nowhere to turn, but up to the large tower in the sky.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 105





	Achilles, Come Down.

**Author's Note:**

> (SONG: Achilles Come Down by Gang Of Youths)

Tommy sits in silence, staring blankly at the remains of Logstedshire with hollow, burning eyes. His surroundings leap and fight at his senses. The sharp smell of seared wood, the thick residue of smoke coating his throat, the dirt and suppressed sobs tugging at his tear ducts. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He just sat there, in painful silence, staring daggers at Dream’s muddied boots stood menacingly before him. Tommy studied the details on his boots carefully, avoiding all eye contact. The torn sides, the mud splatters, the singed laces, the… blood? He knew, as soon as he acknowledged Dream’s crossed arms and disappointed stare, he’d crumble all over again. 

**It is empty, Achilles  
So end it all now  
It's a pointless resistance  
For you.**

He reluctantly shifts his gaze up to Dream, the torrid feeling of betrayal seering his stomach and painting his cheeks red. Dream stands over Tommy, looking down with daggered pity, a malevolent smirk spreading across his callous face. Tommy bites his cheek, knowing that one more outburst would make things worse; the metallic taste of blood quickly dancing across his tongue. He mindlessly wrestles his fingers together, anxiously anticipating the yelling. There was always yelling. Time was at a stand-still, the moment seemed to last forever. 

“Think about what you did.”

Tommy sits motionless in the pit that was once his home. Mushroom Henry was dead, Ghostbur abandoned him, and Dream cut off his only means of visitation. This was it. He was truly isolated. He had previously referred to himself as such, even though he had Ghostbur and Dream, to somewhat surprise himself everyday. If he started at rock bottom, there’s no room for disappointment, right? The finality of his situation weighs heavily on his shoulders. He slouches further than usual, hair grasped desperately in his shaking hands, hoping to cave into himself and disappear into dust. The loneliness was deafening in his head, a constant reminder of his hubris. It screamed condemningly, rattling every corner between his aching temples. You’re alone, and it’s all your fault. Shame on you, Tommy. 

**You're scaring us  
And all of us  
Some of us love you  
Achilles, it's not much but there's proof.**

The eerie silence surrounding Tommy is stifling, a constant reminder of the dread eating away at his insides. Who he once was, slowly crumbling to dust under Dream’s watchful eye and disciplinary tone. He curls his legs to his chest, his sneakers dragging jarringly through the gravel and chunks of charred oak wood. He looks down at his knees, the denim worn nearly translucent. As if he projects himself back in time, Dream’s threatening commands ring in his ears, “Put your stuff in the pit, Tommy. All of it.”, the scratching against his jeans as he knelt down and threw his earnings in the pit itch at his skin, and the faint smell of gunpowder stings teasingly at his senses, the same way it did as Dream lit the TNT and maimed his items until there was nothing but soot. Tommy clenches his jaw, demanding the tears growing in his eyes to leave. Leave, just like everything and everyone else, but they didn’t listen. They stayed. A sob tugged persistently at his throat, and for the first time since exile, Tommy allowed himself to cry. 

\--------------

The sun quietly tucks below the horizon, blanketing the ruins of Logstedshire in cold, muffled darkness. From up here, it’s almost comfortable. Tommy stares at the variety of mobs maneuvering around the wreckage below him. They’re minuscule, pitiful, no bigger than the tears dripping off his chin and making a home in his filthy t-shirt. He takes a deep, shaky breath, letting the frosty evening air burn at his lungs. He sits atop a large tower, feet dangling over his fate, the ground. Soon, he’ll be free. Free of war, free of Dream, free of himself. 

**You may feel no purpose  
Nor a point for existing  
It's all just conjecture and gloom.**

Tommy’s eyes fall to the papers clenched in his fist, he sifts through them carefully. Him and Tubbo are sitting on their bench, the warm, vibrant sunset reflecting on their smiling faces. The corner of the photo whips in the wind, but Tommy smooths it down with a callused thumb. His house is visible now, the grey brick washed in a warm orange glow. He missed his home. Not his house--his eyes land back on Tubbo’s face, his large eyes filled with joy--his home. The home he couldn’t live without, his Tubbo. Sobs gently being carried away by the wind, he flipped to the next photo. Tall, cozy, spruce homes; banners frozen mid-flight, coloured lanterns softly illuminating the wooden pathways; L’Manberg was beautiful, now that he was gone. Slowly, Tommy loosens his grip, letting the wind rip the photos from his rough palms. 

**Where you go  
I'm going  
So jump and I'm jumping  
Since there is no me without you.**

Tommy slowly rises to his feet, arms out to balance himself as the wind wraps around his small form, swaying him back and forth. He regains steady footing and glances down below. The clouds obstruct his view, making the fall look like an endless abyss. His shoes grow further away as he tightens his posture. Tommy slides his feet backward carefully, leaving his heels slightly over the edge. He takes a sharp breath inwards as the wind pushes against his chest, teasing him. His eyes softly flutter shut, slowly brightening as the sun rises once again. His chapped lips open, muttering three words softly into the sunrise, “I’m sorry, Tubbo”. With one last huff, he opens his arms confidently and lets himself fall backward into the uncertainty below him. 

**Throw yourself into the unknown  
With pace and a fury defiant  
Clothe yourself in beauty untold  
And see life as a means to a triumph  
Today of all days  
See.**

As Tommy falls gracefully through the air, his body grows limp. Weightless. His shoelaces thrash melodically in the wind, somewhat lulling the adrenaline pumping heat through his veins. Is this what death feels like? The wind fills his shirt and pant legs, encasing him in a cool bubble of fresh, ocean air--it smells sweetly of thin sand and frigid, salty water. It crawls up the back of his neck and through his scalp, lovingly ruffling his fluffy blonde hair. The rapid descent sucks air from his lungs, but still, Tommy is perfectly calm. He accepted the unavoidable outcome of this rash decision, his final rash decision. “See you on the other side.” He whispers, 

The moment is shattered when he breaks the water below.

The water gave him weight again, so much weight. Tommy’s eyes shot open as the thick water perpetually became heavier against his hollow diaphragm. He struggles fiercely against it, blindly thrashing his long limbs to gain traction. He was determined to die peacefully; not slowly suffocated by water, forever fighting. His cupped hands finally grasp water vigorously enough to launch him through the water’s surface. He coughs and convulses, hastily attempting to rid his lungs of water. As he fell, his limbs felt almost like paper, lightweight and free; only to be burdened and sodden by water. 

Tommy hauls himself ashore, grasping desperately at the sun-warmed sand. He flops on his back; exhausted from his battle against death and the water in his lungs. He lays in the early morning sun, drying himself off. Sand-dusted eyelashes attempt to blink away the blazing sunlight; the attempt is futile, only quickly collecting sand in his already-irritated eyes. Just as he relaxes, the delicate sunlight against his skin, his eyelids darken. He curses under his breath, bitterly forcing his eyes open from their comfortable resting place. He expects a thick cloud covering the sun, but starts when he sees a man standing concerningly over him, looking down in utter confusion. His blue eyes widen, studying this man’s upside-down features. His short, fluffy hair is a light, pleasant pink; he wears thin-framed glasses, taped in the centre, and bears a striking resemblance to his late brother, Wilbur, though tusks poke harshly from between this one’s lips. A crown lay carefully atop his head, slightly dampening his fluffy hair, the jewels glow ethereally in the sunlight. A cape drapes softly over his timid shoulders, and a sword lay sheathed on his hip. He speaks in a low, gravelly, American tone, voice ridden with hesitation, 

“Tommy?” 

**Soldier on  
Achilles  
Achilles come down  
Won't you get up off  
Get up off the roof?**


End file.
